


some dying star looks dull in the light

by sp8ce



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Coda, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, Heaven, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Post-Season/Series Finale, Psychosis, Season/Series 15, Series Finale, but like mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp8ce/pseuds/sp8ce
Summary: "But it does, it does hurt so much. It hurts to see that Dean moves on, that he’s happy, that he’s just living life, with Sam, like nothing’s changed. It’s almost like whatever you were is nonexistent in his mind. You can’t find a single reason why you should burden him with your presence again. Now that he knows.You wonder if that’s why he doesn’t care this time."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	some dying star looks dull in the light

**Author's Note:**

> so we really got fucked over, huh?

Coming back to everything was always shocking, but for some reason this was more jarring than ever before. Like every part of you went from pure saturation to monochromed nothingness -- no identity, memory, emptiness -- to saturation again. Your first though, somehow, is  _ Oh did Dean save me? _

But it’s not Dean you see---it’s Jack. You’re not sure you understand until he explains, explains his powers, explains he’s God. It’s so wrapped up in poetry and barbed wire, the thoughts circle in your mind. Memories coming in. Vulnerability you feel in your chest, the way you have since your psyche was prompted with the physical sensations of being human several years back.

You immediately ask about Dean, and Jack says he’s alright, he’s living life on Earth, with Sam. You think this might be happiness, then. It’s what you wanted. Except for some reason it hurts.

You and Jack talk, about mortality, about justice, about these powers he didn’t want to abuse, and you realise then what truly is happening. You followed God for millenia, were his soldier, followed every command until you met Dean, and now, inspired by your love for Dean, you are the one guiding God.

You remember why the Apocalypse was so bad. You remember Dean’s logic, Dean’s appalled response to Heaven, what you always thought of as utopia for humans, home for you. And you realise where you need to start.

Because Dean is going to come here. And so is Sam, and so is every human on Earth, and so are billions of souls, many you’ve cared for and watched, for so many many eras. 

You use what Dean taught you. But you also use what being human taught you. Maybe God never knew how to make Heaven for humans because he didn’t really know what it meant to be human. You guess you can’t, truly. You can’t ever lose all the memories you have or change what you were. But also, you do know what it means to be human. You do.

So that’s what Jack and you do. And it takes you a minute. To think of leaving for Earth. Jack’s found a way to restore you pretty significantly, to your original power. You could go back. You could even be useful to Sam and Dean again, in a way you haven’t quite been able to replicate since the angels fell, and you lost everything. But it terrifies you.

Because you truly thought that was the end for you. And you told Dean things you never would have said otherwise. And you already know, his response that is. You’re not entirely sure if he would treat you differently because of it. But that’s not even the greatest fear. You’re ashamed. And you don’t want to hear him say the words. You’ve avoided it ever since you learnt there was a way for him to say it. 

But then you think of how terrible it is, to imagine him dead, to not know, and you figure you should check on him. To see. If he’s suffering, without you. If your cowardice is something that could be detrimental. You don’t figure it would be that big of a deal, but you have greatly underestimated what your absence does to him many times in the past. It still haunts you, remembering the time he experienced psychosis because you left him in your guilt.

And when you find out the truth, this time, you think it shouldn’t hurt this much. You have your mission. You’re serving God. Except this time, he’s your son, he’s Jack, he’s who you’d give up anything for, just thinking he’s a human in your care to protect. He’s known. He wants your presence, your guidance. He wants your perspective on free will.

But it does, it does hurt so much. It hurts to see that Dean moves on, that he’s happy, that he’s just living life, with Sam, like nothing’s changed. It’s almost like whatever you were is nonexistent in his mind. You can’t find a single reason why you should burden him with your presence again. Now that he knows. 

You wonder if that’s why he doesn’t care this time.

You wonder if it makes him sick. 

If it shifts your devotion towards him, your adoration, your sacrifices. If it shifts it all to a different, screwed up, selfish skew. You wish you would have never said anything, when you watch him die. You’re not entirely sure why you don’t fly to Earth to heal him then. You’d do anything to save Dean, and now you’ll let him die?

Selfish. That’s what you are. You want him to see Heaven. You want him to see what you’ve created in his vision. He’s going to die sometime, right? And it’s not like you or Jack can’t heal him, bring him back, if that’s what he wants. You’d have come in an instant, if he called the ambulance. If he had gotten help. You almost do, just because you can’t stand Sam’s sorrow, Sam’s grief. But they will see each other again. You’ve made it so. And Dean didn’t call an ambulance.

He didn’t want help.

You try not to think much of it, when you can feel his presence in Heaven. You’ve talked to his family at length. They know you’re alive. If he wants you, all he has to do is ask for you.

But he doesn’t.

It’s a searing rejection. He didn’t care that you’d died. He doesn’t care that you’re alive. He doesn’t care that you love him. He just doesn’t care.

And you know what you wanted you could never have with him. But you desperately look at the past, and shouldn’t he care for you? Were you really never family to him?

It won’t stop hurting. 

The only thing that helps, is when Jack comes to you for advice. He keeps saying he shouldn’t, how that was the entire point, but he’s just a child, he’s just a child with so much good and so much power. You want to nurture him. When you tell him you love him and that you’re proud of him, he thanks you, and says he loves you too.

Someone else, however, does pray to you. It starts one night, not long after Dean’s death, and it makes the guilt in you churn something horrific.

“Cas, I know you’re gone... I know I’m praying to no one. But I just needed to talk to a friend. I miss you... I miss you so much every day. And I miss Dean. And I know I’m the only one left now. And I know Dean, well, at least he’s in good memories. But it kills me, knowing the place you are, your existence -- I’m so sorry we didn’t know how to save you. I’m so sorry I didn’t save you.” 

You’ve been so focused on your devastation over Dean, you didn’t even consider Sam might care about your death. And you could have saved his brother. Will he hate you forever for that?

“I, uhm. I understand that Dean is dead, and this time, he should rest. I understand that I need to move on with my life. But the thing is, you’re not--. You’re not supposed to die  _ like that _ . So I’m going to try to figure out any way. I mean there has to be--there has to be something.”

There are incomplete college applications on a table. There is research about angel’s deaths on another. That isn’t right.

So you show up, right beside him, and he jumps back scared.

“Live your life Sam. I’ll always be here. And Dean. You’ll meet him again. You will.”

You disappear, before he can respond. You’re not sure what Dean has told him, since you were dead for a period of time on Earth too. It makes your cheeks burn. It’s a sensation you wish you never learnt how to feel. You know it means embarrassment.

Sam’s mood does improve, and he does apply back to school, in the next few days, like he’s trying to grasp anything, and it’s the only thing he can think of.

Another person prays to you. Bobby Singer, in Heaven. You come to greet him on a beautiful porch. The strangest thing about him is he never seems to bring up the fact it was, in part, your fault he died.

“You have to talk to Dean,” he says. This is already painful enough.

“He can talk to me. I’m not ignoring him,” you say. 

“Yeah, but he won’t,” Bobby says. It feels like a stab through the heart. Are you a zombie who needs to be nailed to their grave bed? You guess you kind of are.

“That’s his business, then,” you say. When you say it, you realise it sounds a bit petulant.

“Are you trying to punish him? For not saving you?”

“I do not want to harm Dean ever,” you say. 

“Then why are you doing this to him?” Bobby asks. You’re not sure what he means.

“Bobby?” You freeze. In any plane of existence, you recognise that voice. “I was wondering if--”

He sees you and freezes, mouth open, confused. You should disappear. You can disappear. But for some reason you’re frozen too.

You feel like he’s lacerating you. It’s different to be nothingness and to be something with a mission than it is to actually face him. You could disappear. Instead all you think to do is walk away.

You realise, when you find yourself in some random trees half a mile away, alone, that the reason you didn’t vanish was because you wanted so desperately for him to follow you.

You wonder, if now, you’re just something that makes him sick. And what use would have of you in Heaven?

“Cas, are you alive?” Dean asks, you hear it, home in on it, feel the urge to flutter right beside him. But you don’t. What is he on about? Are you alive? He literally just saw you. “‘Cause if you are, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

You can’t resist. You fly to him. You do it before you remember what you revealed to him. You do it before you can be afraid.

“Hello Dean,” you say. He’s outside his car, at a look out. It’s a mountain, reminiscent of the Cascade mountains in the Pacific Northwest. The sun is shining against the backdrop, the light on Dean’s bowed head. You wonder if he’s paying you reverence. He looks up to you.

“Bobby said you remade Heaven with Jack,” Dean says. You squint at him. It’s such a bizarre thing for him to say, right now. But you’ve been confused by Dean as long as you’ve known him. Even though you also know, at his core, everything about him. It’s a weird paradoxical tandem.

“That’s correct,” you say. You realise it’s a bit terse.

“Is this... really you?” he asks. That’s confusing. “Is Bobby’s intel right? Are you really here?”

“Yes,” you say. “Can you not see me?” You’re pretty sure you remembered to be corporeal to him.

“Yes,” Dean says. 

“Oh,” you say. Dean looks away, embarrassed. At least you’re not alone in that sensation. “You’ve seen me before. When I wasn’t real.” He doesn’t respond, which is the confirmation you need. Neither of you speak for a moment. This is not the reunion you had planned for him. Your confession hangs heavy in the air. You take another step back from him, even though you’re at least several feet away, because it somehow feels like an invasion. He sighs at that.

“So, you ended up letting me die in the end, huh?” Dean says, and there’s something brittle in it, like that fact hurts him. Like you didn’t just die for him and tell him everything. What more could he possibly want from you?

“You were eventually going to die. 

“Did you enjoy it then?” he says. It’s confusing. What could you possibly enjoy from that? But he looks genuinely hurt.

“Heaven is better now. Do you want me to bring you back to life?” you ask matter-a-factly. 

“No, no,” he says. “I’m okay with my fate.” He doesn’t say anything for another while, sits leant up against the rock at the lookout. The thick tension in the air is getting too much for you.

“You don’t need to feel obligated to keep in contact with me,” you say. 

“Feel obligated? What the fuck, Cas?” he snaps. You look away, confused by all of this. 

“I’ll just go,” you say. 

“Yeah, you do that. You’re so fucking good at that,” he says, and there is anger in his tone, turmoil. He is sincerely mad at you. And you guess anger is a pretty standard response from Dean, but you’re confused on what you could have done to trigger it. You’re scared it’s to do with your vessel, with the human implications of your desires. Dean hasn’t ever seemed cruel against homosexuals, but you were also often too afraid to find out.

You knew your death didn’t matter much to him, but you still thought maybe he would be a little happy to see you. At least you hoped. There are shards all glistening while you feel them cut you up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t save you, then, I just also noticed you didn’t call an ambulance, so I wasn’t sure if that was how you wanted to die,” you say.

“God, if we’re in paradise, then why does this hurt so much?” he asks. You’re confused now.

“Because you taught me you need free will,” you say. “And that also means suffering.”

“I’m the one who didn’t save you,” Dean says. You suppose that’s true. 

“When I died, I didn’t expect you to,” you say.

“No, you just thought you were going to disappear forever,” Dean says tersely.

“Correct.” 

“After you--” Dean cuts himself off. So here we are. The elephant in the room. Or rather, the broad open canvas of Earth and air conjured by Dean’s memories and innate system worldbuilding. You nod.

“You don’t have to say anything. I already know you feel. I wasn’t expecting you to need to reply, ever,” you say.

“What?” You squint at him.

“I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s okay. I would want to continue to be--”

“What do you mean feel the same way?”

“I told you I loved you,” you say.  _ And then you didn’t even mourn me _ . 

“You think I don’t love you?” he says. “Fuck, Cas, you didn’t give me a chance to respond. You just told me you were dying and then you--” He takes a breath, you see him now, his eyes seem brighter. His body tense, but still more open. He’s making himself vulnerable, you realise. It calms you a bit. Because you already flayed yourself open for him. “You were going to die, leave me, and you said, and... Cas there were human implications, too, to what you said, and...”

“Human implications?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Because you chose to leave me afterwards anyways.”

“Chose to leave you? Dean, I was dragged forcibly into the Empty. I wanted to save you.”

“What about after that? What about the entire time I’ve been here?”

“I wasn’t under the impression you cared,” you admit. It’s bitter. It didn’t seem acerbic in your head, but it slipped out, poison left on your tongue. 

“Of course I fucking care!” he exclaims. The anger momentarily shocks you, but afterwards you feel a bit calmer. 

“Well, I’m here,” you say. 

“I’ve been replaying what you said to me, Cas. I can’t stop,” he says. Oh. Okay. You don’t think you can breathe very well. Except that’s stupid. You shouldn’t lose control of your vessel here. You focus on that and it turns to vague inner colour representations of “distress.” “I can’t figure out what you meant, by what you wanted you can’t have. Did you want me gone, but couldn’t? Because I changed you?”

You’re dumbstruck.

“What?” 

“Was that even about me? Was it unrelated--” You think you should be glad he’s communicating now, not hiding from you and yelling sparsely. But is he really going to make you say this again? “What about me could you possibly not have?”

“This seems like cruelty,” you say. 

“Fine,” Dean says, and you see even in his body language, the way he turns in on himself, he’s shutting off. “But let me get this straight. You tell me you love me so much it makes you  _ die _ , for  _ me _ , then you go to this crazy Angel dead place, you come back to life, and then you just... don’t even bother telling me? Cas, that’s not love.”

“Dean, I meant every word I said I--” you’re somewhat at a loss for words now. “Sometimes loving someone is letting them live their own life if it makes them better.”  _ Sort of like why you declined my offer to bring you back to life. _

“How would my life ever be better without you?” Dean asks, and he sounds dumbstruck. You feel your face soften. For the first time since you’ve been back, everything feels like that pastel glow of a rising star. 

“You seemed better off without me. I apologise if I miscalculated. I’m here now,” you say.

“Cas I was hallu--,” Dean takes a deep breath. He’s not even tense anymore, but he looks like he might start shaking. “You don’t understand at all do you? I-- I love you, Cas,” he says. It feels like a nebula you’ve travelled across. It feels like his version of Heaven could surpass a supernova in beauty, because it’s a backdrop to his face. It feels like he is the cosmic significance. You know, he means brotherly love. You know he still doesn’t reciprocate. But you didn’t realise after all this time watching him seem happy when he thinks you’re dead, that something big had lodged over the crack in your perspective you use to see out of. 

“I love you, too, Dean. And I know you don’t reciprocate the rest but--”

“Don’t reciprocate?” Now Dean looks truly puzzled. Did he not, did he not really know what you had said to him before. It takes all your power not to fly away like the coward you are. “What feelings could you have for me I could possibly not reciprocate?” His eyes are tighter together, and there’s almost a smile on his face.

“It’s not important,” you say. 

“How do you know I don’t feel the same way?” he asks. 

“Because you’ve been clear about it. Can we please drop it?”

“Cas, I want...” Dean takes a deep breath. You think you see a dam open behind you, using your awareness. “I want anything from you. Everything. I just don’t want to lose you.”

You freeze. You think the two of you have suddenly gone into territory you’ve never been in before. Something you didn’t think was possible. You feel delusional, by the hope, glimmering, by the shy look on Dean’s face. By his anxiety.

“Dean, you are aware, that I mean, in the very human sense, that I am in love with you?” you finally say, and a smile so brilliant it contests dying stars lights up his face. Then, a shadow, comes over his face, over the sun, a cloud. 

“You can’t say stuff like that then die. You can’t say stuff like that then leave me,” he says. “You’re too important, Cas, Goddammit.”

“I’m sorry I’m just...” you’re dazed, that’s what you are. Confused, euphoric, frazzled. You realise dimly, this is when he’s probably going to reject you. For some reason, your emotions aren’t reacting as such. Is that the contamination “hope”? “Was under the impression I wasn’t that essential...”

Dean moves before you realise what’s happening, and he’s kissed you, gentle, right on your lips. You’re too stunned to reciprocate, and he immediately pulls away, looking cautious and afraid.

“Oh my God, Cas, I thought, I misread, see humans when we say--” Your turn to cut him off, you think, and kiss him, and this time  _ he’s _ shocked, but then he moves and he’s kissing you back, and it’s just another one for the list, you realise, what’s happening now, what’s happening, this existence, this moment. Dean Winchester has once again made you feel something hundreds of millions of years didn’t allow you to.

It’s almost too much. You don’t have enough to process shock or confusion or even really what’s happening. You try to calm your vessel down, but it’s near impossible, with the way Dean keeps kissing you and kissing you. Eventually he stops, and you’re not sure why, but he’s got you wrapped up tight in his arms, a hug, one of those hugs you treasure above most else in the universe.

“Is this alright,” Dean asks. You’re unsure what he means.

“Yes,” you say. Anything’s alright, you think. You wonder how the elation of dying with your secret told could compare to whatever it is you’re feeling now.  _ True happiness _ . 

“Was so sure, I mean, you’re an angel, I didn’t know, you couldn’t want this,” Dean mumbles.

“I didn’t think you did,” you admit too, even though, from all of this, that’s so painfully obvious. 

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Dean says. 

“Okay,” you say. 

“I think I finally found Heaven,” Dean adds. He kisses your cheek, real sweetly. It’s chaste, but it makes your breath catch. You’re not used to physical intimacy at all. You hope that won’t be an issue. Is he really on the same page as you? None of this makes sense.

“I mean, I’d hope. Because there’s not another one unless I help Jack make it,” you say over his shoulder. He hugs you tighter.

“I can’t believe you saved me, and I didn’t save you. I didn’t want to let you go. I wanted to--” he stops. “It was like there was still a narrative. Like the world went flat. And I kept seeing you. And I didn’t know how to rescue you. And I should have died trying. And instead I just died.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I didn’t make the deal thinking you’d save me. I just wanted to save Jack. And he did save me. So all is well.”

“Tell me again,” Dean said, and he starts kissing you, except this time on your neck, and your breath really hitches at that. You lose focus. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” you make out.

“Anything,” Dean says.

“I love you,” you say, and Dean kisses you more. You repeat and repeat and eventually he steals your lips and you mumble until you just kiss him back, and yeah. This is true happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> they queerbaited us one last time and I fell for it so hard but we still got this. it's completely canon-compliant to the point where I'm sure most of the people who work for Supernatural envisioned a similar scene in their head. I'm right. Homophobic rights cause it inspires me to write a fix-it immediately. Enjoy. Love me. Leave comments. Haven't written destiel since I was 14 or 15. Kisses.
> 
> and yes the episode came out today and I wrote all this today after already tiring out my fingers making a million posts. it's been a busy night, alright? don't just me too hard for the writing. The essence of a one-shot.


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